Sebastian Moran's Journal
by BBCRULES
Summary: Sebastian Moran has to finish what Moriarty left. There's one thing that he failed to anticipate. John Watson's friendship. - I do not own anything. I cannot get rid of the idea that Richard Brook was real and Moriarty was his alias. I had to revise trivia after my new story, Christmas Surprise. Thank you for reading. Comments are welcome.
1. Sebastian Moran's story

A little bit of revision in the text. I just wrote Christmas Surprise , a confrontation between Molly and Sebastian Moran. I had to revise a little bit. My apologies;)

I owe nothing. I still believe Richard Brook was the official name for James Moriarty. Thanks for reading.

If you are interested, my Reichenbach Story follows the below sequence.

At the Morgue - The Fall - Surprise - Christmas Surprise- Sebastian Moran Journal* - 26 wonders - Life still goes on.

* * *

**Sebastian Moran**

_A tall lanky man walked out of the Barbican station. He held a small backpack. Without hesitation, he walked into a building across the hospital and took out a medical gown and a book, "Human Physiology". He put on the gown, carried the book with one hand, and maneuvered his way into Bart's building without attracting much attention. Media people swarmed around the building and reported frantically about the suicide of a fake genius detective. Sherlock Holmes was said to have committed suicide earlier. The man hid in men's toilet and overheard hospital staffs gossiping about two bodies found in the building. One was Sherlock Holmes, and the other wasn't identified. Hanging around for an hour, the man walked out of the building and grabbed a cab._

**June 13****th**

Jim Moriarty is dead. The newspapers say Richard Brook is missing. There are all sorts of rumors yet I know that Jim finished his game in his own style. It was so typical of him. He must be dead.

**June 14****th****: **

Jim was so convinced that he could destroy Sherlock. That morning, I called John Watson around 9 o'clock, pretending to be a paramedic and luring him away for about an hour from Bart's: I was supposed to shoot Watson and text the other two killers in case Jim's plan failed. As I had expected, Watson hurried back to the hospital about half an hour later. Sherlock was standing on the top of the building with no Jim Moriarty in sight. Then the detective killed himself. I saw his body on a gurney wheeled back to the hospital. Yet my focus was on my target. Dr. Watson crumbled on the ground, his face full of shock, disbelief, sadness, and despair. It was his face that made me disassemble my rifle. I left, assured that Sherlock Holmes was dead. I was so convinced that Jim successfully got rid of his enemy.

That night, I waited but Jim did not contact me; I was not allowed to call him. Something was wrong so I threw my phone into the Thames the next morning.

* * *

_Cemetery _

_It was a bright summer day with the smell of roses drifting in the air. There was quite a crowd in the cemetery for a funeral was in progress: a funeral of a young detective who committed suicide in the midst of scandals. Sherlock Holmes killed himself a few days ago by jumping off the rooftop of Bart's. Given the outrageous scandals surrounding the demise of Sherlock Holmes, all the broadcasting reporters swarmed around. Yet for some reason, they kept their distance. _

_The funeral was a closed-coffin service. A wreath of red roses was visible on the coffin. A tall man with an umbrella introduced himself as Sherlock's brother, Mycroft. He thanked the mourners and said a few words for his brother. The older brother's face was impassive. Then a short-haired blond man with a military bearing took the stand and delivered a eulogy for his friend. Unlike the older Holmes, his eulogy was emotional. John Watson was choking up when he delivered his words. Full of pain and disbelief, he staggered back to his seat and immediately got hugged by an old lady next to him. _

_The service was a short and simple one._

_Hours later, at sunset, a tall man in a black suit lingered. He stood at the grave for a long time in deep thought._

* * *

**June 15****th**

I attended Sherlock Holmes' funeral today. Mostly I hid in the back, and observed in the shadows. The closed-coffin service bothered me.

A nice old lady, Mrs., Hudson I believe, tripped so I helped her politely. I pretended that I owed big to the detective for my friend's life – I was not lying: I'm so convinced that Jim also killed himself on that day. A little chat won me her number.

Mr. Holmes, the older, was emotionless. It wasn't surprising. Jim had called the older Holmes "Iceman". He kept his cool during the entire service. Well, he wasn't my concern.

My eyes were on Dr. Watson, my prey that was set free. He had a vacant look on his face with eyes so deep in sorrow. A soldier bloke like him cannot lie; and if he saw his friend fall and witnessed his death, Sherlock Holmes must have died.

I don't know what made me go to Sherlock Holmes' funeral today. I think I was saying good-bye to Jim Moriarty. After everybody left, I stayed at the burial site because there was nothing else to do.

**June 18****th**

I met Tracy Smith, Jim's ex-wife. She was vain and stupid, suffering from alcoholism. I don't understand why Jim married her. She knew nothing but I told her Richard must be dead. I asked her to file a request to investigate Richard's missing to the police.

**June 20****th**

Tracy Smith failed me to my dismay. The police sent her back with a vague promise. If the police is hushing about Jim's death, this woman will be closely watched. I'll avoid her for the time being – the police must be checking her information.

**August 18****th****.**

I woke up, sweating and cursing. The nightmare always revisits me. The same dream over and over. I stood up and got a cold beer from the freezer. The cold drink helped me breathe normally.

In my nightmare, I still see Sherlock's body being swept into the morgue. When I run to it, it is Jim lying on the gurney with his empty eyes open. I try to close his eyes and his blood spews all over me, turning my shirt into crimson red. If only I could have had a funeral for Jim.

**September 1****st**

Jim's body was finally released. Newspapers simply reported that the missing Richard Brook was found dead. Tracy buried him without a proper funeral. She revealed the location of Jim's grave on her blog. Without a funeral….Jim would not have cared about it. He used to say that life is full of boredom.

**November 17****th**

I'm not myself. I've been drinking too much.

With Jim gone, I do not know what is going on in the organization. Jim was the only one that knew every detail.

I decided to try something mundane and boring. I called Bereavement UK and signed up for a support meeting next week. I must be losing my mind.

**November 21****st****.**

I saw John Watson in the Bereavement UK meeting. What a coincidence. To my surprise, he was also in Afghanistan though we did not know each other. I left the army earlier than John was discharged. He barely talked about his feelings. Neither did I. The leading counselor told us that we should let it out but we kept our silence. Silence is good.

**November 28****th****.**

I decided not to attend the bereavement meeting any more. It didn't work.

**December 10****th**

Something is not right. Jim's goal was Sherlock Holmes' disgrace and fall, but the scandal that Jim spawned so elaborately died down too fast with the yellow-painted graffiti [I believe in Sherlock Holmes] all over the streets of London. Though, the kidnapping of the Ambassador's children hasn't been solved, the detective is not a suspect.

I have a nagging feeling that Sherlock Holmes may be alive.

Double-checking is essential. I started with the old lady. I "accidently" ran into Ms. Hudson at Tesco. She invited me over and I gladly accepted. I will visit her tomorrow.

**December 11****th**.

I am going to be a new tenant of Baker Street 221 C, which is a good place to check on Sherlock's friends. It is a pity that John is going to move out around Christmas though he does not need to pay the rent. "Too much memory" as Ms. Hudson told me. I was surprised to hear that Sherlock's brother had asked her to keep 221B as it is for John Watson. Something did not feel right there: all the possessions of Sherlock Holmes are in the flat. A place for a ghost - how spooky it is. No wonder Watson wants to move out. I lied to Mrs. Hudson that I was about to get an eviction notice and she fell for it. She told me that she would have the flat painted nicely for me.

**December 26****th**

There is something about Molly Hopper, Jim's ex-girlfriend. I had been waiting around for five days for a "right" moment and I got to talk to her two days ago. She knew something about the detective's suicide.

Jim had told me that Molly doesn't read any newspapers because she sees enough deaths at her job and that she doesn't have TV. I took a betting that she wouldn't know about Richard Brook's death.; she knows Jim as Jim, not Richard - I had doubted my ears when I heard her call out Jim's name. As far as I know, Jim only revealed his alias, Jim Moriarty to someone of trust.

Anyway, I lied to Molly that no one was supposed to know about the second body at Bart's and she fell for it - her eyes, sweats on her face, trembling voice, hand gestures...all of them showed she was hiding something.

**January 3rd**

I moved in today. The whole building is very quiet. The Jubilee line is very close and the rent is mercifully affordable.

* * *

_BAKER STREET 221A_

_A loud bang. Definitely a pistol. John Watson hardened his face and dropped his cup of tea, which shattered on the floor. Mrs. Hudson called after him but John already ran out the door of 221A. He hurried upstairs, flung open the door to 221B, and rushed into the room. _

_"What the hell are you doing? Sherlock. Stop terrorizing the wall. It didn't do anything. We talked about this! Your boredom should not the reason that the wall takes a pounding." _

_John abruptly stopped. His eyes darted around the room, his shoulders sagged, and he stumbled on one of the chair near fireplace. The flat was cold and dark. A skull on the mantelpiece, a violin case on a chair, files and papers neatly arranged on a desk, a clean dining table in the kitchen with experiment tools boxed and stacked in a corner… His eyes scanned everything so familiar to him. He could see Sherlock sprawled on the couch, complaining and shooting at the smiley on the wall. "Bored! Bored!" John could almost feel Sherlock's foul mood when there was nothing to occupy him. In the empty room, he felt like a stranger. He wrapped his head with his hands, hating the unfamiliar silence of the familiar room. He started to sob. _

_Mrs. Hudson stood downstairs with a look of pity. Her new tenant of 221A, Sebastian Moran apologized for the gun's going-off but the landlady didn't pay attention. Instead, she stared at 221B, shook her head, and smiled at Moran. They entered 221A together. Later John stumbled down the stairs, walked into Mrs. Hudson's flat and apologized for breaking the cup. Mrs. Hudson introduced her new tenant to John. A look of recognition on John's face turned into faint amusement._

* * *

**January 6****th****.**

I was unpacking my things when my gun went off by accident. I groaned. I just moved in and what I should say to Mrs. Hudson about the hole in the wall? Then, I heard hasty footsteps upstairs followed by shouting and then silence. Guessing that my new landlady was angry, I opened my door in order to apologize. She barely listened to my apology and her eyes were fixed on the stairs. A few minutes later, Mrs. Hudson and I could hear muffled sobbing. Ms. Hudson hushed and invited me to her flat to join her and John Watson. John limped back to the room with tears obvious around his red eyes. John sat down, mumbled a few words, and pretended to focus on the biscuits. Mrs. Hudson made herself busy, pouring more tea and patting John's hand.

John was surprised to see me here yet forced to smile when he heard that I was a new tenant of 221C. He kept saying that it was a good thing that Ms. Hudson did not have to be alone in the building. Ms. Hudson wondered why John and I were not strangers.

It turned out that today is Sherlock Holmes' birthday. The first birthday after death… Lestrade or Leonard, whatever, of the police joined John and Mrs. Hudson. I left 221A, thanking Mrs. Hudson for the tea.

Molly Hooper may be a simple stupid girl who hasn't got over her crush on the dead detective. Sherlock Holmes must be dead.

**January 15****th**

Watson visited Mrs. Hudson again with a box of tea cups. I came across him when he entered the building. He politely suggested that we have tea. I did not decline. Inside the sandwich shop, we talked about the army, Afghanistan and a few people that we both knew.

Teatime between a hunter and his prey. It was strange but he made me forget my confusion. Surprisingly, we had many things in common. John Watson still did not talk about his feelings yet he asked about me. I told him that a man I can almost regard as a friend killed himself a few months ago. He nodded and patted my shoulder. I saved words about details yet John Watson understood what it was like to lose a close friend.

He was using a cane because his limping got worse. His hands shook badly and spilled half of the liquid in the cup. Though he was in the café, he was lost somewhere in his thought. I knew what it was like, a complete detachment from your surroundings. His eyes were like mine: eyes that lost a purpose. We exchanged our phone numbers though I already knew his.

**February 20****th**

He called me. I did not answer. It is highly unprofessional for me to befriend him.

**March 5th**

I feel lost. I do not have a purpose. What would Jim want me to do now?

**March 30****th**

John and I came across at the Trafalgar Plaza. We had tea. His presence made me feel o.k. We talked about the army again and he told me that he had won a championship for good marksmanship in the army. I did, too. He still uses his cane.

**April 15****th**

John called me. He suggested that we go to a nearby shooting practice range. Though his hands were having tremors, he said, they got much better.

**April 18****th**

We practiced shooting together. John Watson is an excellent marksman. He could've have worked as a sniper. My compliments seemed to embarrass him.

* * *

_Mycroft Holmes frowned at the picture of John and a man that looked familiar – they were about to enter a shooting-practice range. John's face's smiling a bit and Mycroft got curious about this guy, who drove away glooms and depression from John, if briefly. He assumed that both might have military experience and sent the man's picture for ID identification._

* * *

**April 23****rd**

Moriarty's network seems to be unraveling. I did not notice it for months because everybody had to be staying low, unnoticed. In addition, everybody knows only a couple of contacts, not more. Jim was the only one that knew everything. Yet, I am sensing a crisis. I need to visit Russia and France next month. I had more handgun practice with John.

* * *

_CEMETARY_

_A black tombstone with an inscription of Sherlock Holmes, was set up the previous day._

_Mycroft Holmes saw John walking toward the grave without a cane. He raised his eyes and tried to catch John's eyes. John ignored Mycroft and laid stems of pink rose. Mycroft waited for John a few yards away. When John turned around, the Holmes asked._

_"How's your job prospect, John?"_

_"What?"_

_"Thinking about going back to the army, checking your marksmanship at a shooting range?"_

_"You are impossible!"_

_John breathed deep, trying not to lose his cool. Mycroft carried on._

_"Missing the battlefield that you saw while you were with my brother? Do you see the same battlefield when you're with your new friend? What's his name?"_

_John's face hardened. His voice turned into a low growl._

_"Mr. Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock Holmes is dead. You don't need to watch me anymore. Just get away from my life." _

* * *

**April 30th **

After handgun shooting practice, John showed me a photo of Sherlock Holmes' tombstone: a black stone with only his name inscribed and no date of birth or death. I told him that it looked beautiful. He invited me to his flat. I promised to visit soon.

John got a job. He works three times a week at a local clinic.

**May 2****nd**** .**

John and I ate at Angelo's. Food was good. John talked a little about his first dinner with Sherlock Holmes in the middle of a case. Although he omitted many details, I remembered the case too well. I had supplied the pills to the taxi driver.

* * *

_When Mycroft Holmes came back to his office after an hour-long meeting with the Prime Minister and cabinet members, he noticed a file on his desk: Watson's surveillance report. He flipped a few pages casually but stopped at the last page that had a picture of John and the man from the shooting practice. Mycroft called Anthea to get follow-up on the man's identification inquiry. Waiting for Anthea to get the file, the older Holmes pondered on the picture of the last page in John's file: a picture of John and the man having dinner at the Angelo's. Anthea brought him a new file about the man. His name was Sebastian Moran, a veteran from the army. _

_Suddenly Mycroft realized that he had seen the man before…CCTV image…Mrs. Smith, Brook's ex-wife. His face got pale. He took out his phone and sent a text message. Soon, his second phone rang. Mycroft Holmes tried to calm down the person on the other side of the line. _

_"Calm down. Don't jump the gun. We need more information." _

_The voice was shaky in anger._

_"So this guy…Moran is a sniper with a code name Tiger? I've heard the name. A cold-minded hunter who never lets his target escape."_

_Mycroft pressed his eyelid with one hand, getting a headache due to the seriousness of the situation and the loud yelling from his brother over the phone. _

_"So, how many times did this guy meet John?"_

_"Not sure. Not for long, I assume. I can't ask any details to Mrs. Hudson. She might tip Moran off unintentionally. What I know is that Moran is the person on the CCTV images near Mrs. Smith's house; John knew this guy for some time; and he is living in your building for months. Thankfully John moved out already."_

_"It doesn't matter. He was the sniper for John that day. Then the only person in danger is John! Couldn't you do anything?"_

_The detective seethed._

_"Mycroft, I asked for only one thing: to keep John safe." _

_Mycroft raised his voice, too. _

_"What could have I done to stop it? John was not listening and moved out. He hasn't forgiven me. Mrs. Hudson is not on my surveillance. We didn't know Moran was living in 221C." _

_"Surveillance upgrade is a must. Mycroft, I'm going back to London now." _

_The voice sounded like a whiny child who was about to throw a tantrum. Mycroft firmly said. _

_"You know you can't. One wrong move can trigger Moran wrong. I will upgrade the surveillance. "_

_Sherlock hung up and Mycroft ordered more CCTV cameras around Baker Street 221 and upgraded the surveillance status of the doctor to grade 2. He included Mrs. Hudson in his watch._

* * *

**May 3****rd**

John seemed to be busy. No phone calls or texts.

**May 4****th**

Before my trip to Russia and France, I decided to pay a visit to John.

John looked very surprised and embarrassed when he found me outside his door. No wonder, in his living room, I found some files about me. John tried to hide them but failed. Mycroft Holmes had sent them to him because of his "concerns" about John Watson's befriending me. John laughed it off and he seemed to have been awed by my colorful CV. I wondered if John saw that I was the sniper for him. He seemed not to notice it: my connection to Moriarty is well kept secret as far as I know. However, there was awkward silence from time to time that both of us could not fill in. Thankfully, he was more infuriated at Mycroft Holmes for meddling with his life again.

When I was about to leave, John told me that he did not need the cane any more. I smiled at the news. There was some naivety in John's voice when he delivered the news like a child.

I was sure that John Watson would be defiant and continue this relationship with me.

Back in my flat, the realization dawned on me. Sherlock Holmes might be alive. Why Mycroft Holmes, the Iceman, would so care for an army doctor? Come to think of it, he barely showed any emotion at his bro's funeral. Is his younger brother behind such unusual moves? As far as I know, the rent for 221B is still being paid though the flat is empty. That must be expensive given the location of the flat. A question after a question continues. Is Sherlock Holmes the reason behind unraveling of Jim's network?

I need to revisit my memory, digging up clues. There must be government intelligence around my flat. I need to be careful.

No hasty conclusion. But one thing is clear. If Sherlock Holmes had not respected his end of the bargain, then John Watson will have to pay. It is that simple.

**May 28****th****.**

Back from abroad. I have been avoiding John for days. What a coward! My excuse was travelling. Something's happening. Some key members of Moriarty's net were arrested one after another without any reason. Either police of France and Russia got a genetic boost to get smarter or someone is helping them. Who can it be? Does it have something to do with evasive Sherlock Holmes?

I need to get the details on the day of Sherlock's suicide. I am having tea with John today. John sounded thrilled at my voice.

**June 7****th**.

When I got a call from John, he was already drunk. He was on his way to my flat. We sat together and watched telly together. I opened one wine bottle from my recent trip to France and poured the wine in two glasses. Sipping wine, I started my "story" to lower his defense. I told him that my "girlfriend" died five years ago and that was the reason that I left the army. I told him that her death drained any emotions left from me. John tried to console me and started talking about the day that he lost his closest friend: John confided about his last phone call with Sherlock Holmes. Tricks, a fake, eyes fixed on me…a mysterious word choice as John called it.

Hours later, I could not sleep. I sat on a chair and finished my wine bottle, recalling every word John had said. Then, it hit me. Did any of us, I mean, John and I actually see his impact on the ground? I scanned Bart's perimeter in my mind. John was standing behind the one-story ambulance building. From my position, I could not see the ground. We both saw Holmes jumping off the roof, and a young man's body wheeled into the morgue. John's crumbling down to the ground and his teary face were, I thought, enough for me to convince the detective's death.

My bad. I should've been thorough.

**June 12****th****. **

John took a day off. He did not say anything about it but I knew from Mrs. Hudson that John would visit Sherlock Holmes grave. Mrs. Hudson was there, too.

A year passed since Jim died. I have been at Jim's grave for the first time. I failed him: John was still alive. I had to close the deal that James Moriarty had made.

**July 13****th**

I got some photos of someone that almost looks like Sherlock Holmes in France from my reliable sources. His hair was shorter straight blond and he was wearing casuals yet nothing could change his emerald green eyes. He cheated on Jim Moriarty and the death itself, but he won't fool me.

The old me would've pulled a trigger of my rifle already, stopping John's heart but I hesitated. Why?

If Sherlock Holmes were alive, then he would contact me someday. That should be the day that I finish John Watson and that would be the most effective and painful punishment on Sherlock.

I have to avoid John for the time being for any further association with John is going to make everything complicated. I already told Ms. Hudson that I had to move out at the end of the month.

**July 27****th**

John, Ms. Hudson and I had dinner together at 221A. It was a sort of farewell party for me. I ordered Chinese for them.

I tried to see if there was any sign that John or Mrs. Hudson knew Sherlock Holmes is alive. No. They were acting too good or they truly believe his death. Why does the detective want them to believe so? Did the scandal about him force him into hiding? As far as I know the younger Holmes is the last person that would mind such rumors.

Sherlock Holmes must be a bastard to leave John depressed and saddened for more than a year.

**August 1****st**

I changed my mobile number. I moved out yesterday. I vanished from John Watson's world. Hopefully this will lift the government surveillance off me.

**September 1****st**

I almost visited John's flat. I kept reminding myself that today was the day that Jim was buried. I saw John from shadows. He was paler, thinner and exhausted.

I decided to start my work again. Emotions are a luxury that I cannot have.

**October 4****th**

I've been busy, fulfilling my job. It is a nice feeling to be back in the field. I should not forget the wild excitement of pulling a trigger. Ronald Adair is dead. A clean perfect murder. As always, the police are in the dark.

* * *

_On a gloomy November day, a tall dark-haired young man got his bag from baggage reclaim, and walked out of the terminal 1 of the Heathrow Airport. He looked very thin and pale but his face showed a pleasure of homecoming. Putting on sunglasses and flicking his collar of the black coat up, he turned on his mobile and sent a text message while walking to get a taxi. _

_"I am at LHR. SH." _

_At the text alert, Mycroft sighed and sent a text back. _

_"Back now? Do not contact Moran yet. MH" _

_"John? SH." _

_"Safe. MH"_

_"See you at home. SH"_

* * *

**November 19****th**

I was surprised to read Daily Mail today. Mr. Northwood was arrested for a charge of possessing illegal substance and bribing the police. He was important, who dealt with drugs in the U.K. and sponsored Jim's organization. If I was Jim's lieutenant, Northwood was a CFO. I was at the Christmas party at Northwood's mansion before Moriarty died. We've met for a couple of times. If they got him, then the next would be me: he is not a person of trust. He would sell me over as quickly as possible if plea-bargain is possible. Do I have to hide? No, I've got time because Sherlock has not contacted me yet.

**November 20****th**

I got a message from the dead after lunch.

**"Come and play. Pool. Time for a closure. SH"**

We both knew the pool too well. We met there once though I was hiding in the shadow.

I replied.

**"Midnight. Got a surprise. With pleasure. SM"**

I called John after months. He was so happy. We agreed to meet around 8 o'clock. I am going out for shopping.

* * *

_Holmes manor_

_"I've got this report right now. Sherlock, Sit down."_

_Mycroft found himself nervous, which was very rare. His brother sat and drank the hot tea that Mycroft just poured._

_"I am busy, Mycroft. Make it quick." _

_Sherlock said nonchalantly._

_"Sherlock, John is missing for 3 hours. He left his work around 7: 30 and still has not gotten back to his flat."_

_Mycroft continued._

_"Moran disappeared from our radar a few months ago and there has been no contact between the two apparently." _

_Sherlock put his cup down on the table, and looked up at Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes expected a burst of angry words and glare from his brother yet there was silence. _

_Sherlock said simply._

_"I know exactly where John is now."_

_At this unexpected reaction, Mycroft accusingly said._

_"You contacted Moran? I told you not to." _

_Sherlock stood up and frowned._

_"Why delay the inevitable? "_

_Sherlock turned his back and walked out of the sitting room. _

_"You used your friend as bait to get Moran? This is so typical you! Stop. I'm not done with you. Where are you going?"_

_The older Holmes called after him. _

_"You need a back-up. I will call Lestrade."_

_Sherlock stopped and turned his face to his brother. A look of anger flickered across his face._

_"I got it all from you, Mycroft: betrayal, deceit, lies, secrets… I might've forgiven you if you had kept John safe… You can't do even the one thing I had asked."_

_Mycroft flinched at this. _

_"No police. If you dare, Mycroft. This is my business. Back off."_

_Sherlock walked up to his bedroom, muttering something._

_"Efficiency matters. I can go back to Baker 221B faster."_

_Mycroft Holmes could hear what Sherlock muttered. He defiantly opened his mobile and made phone calls. _

_"I lost you once. Dear brother. I cannot lose you again."_

* * *

**POOL **

I drove my van to the parking lot. John was lying in the back of the van, tied and unconscious. He looked worse than he was in September.

"Has he worried about my disappearance? How touching!"

Trying to ignore John's change, I carried the doctor into the pool building: the doctor must have lost quite a lot of pounds.

The pool was closed because it is being renovated. Beams are exposed, some walls were taken down and brick stacks are everywhere. A perfect place for the dead and the living.

I got John on a plastic chair and tied him again because I did not want him to fall from the chair and to wake up early. The weather was chilly so I got my parka on John. I did not want him to catch cold. I bought an expensive goose-down for John early afternoon. My last present to him: I had to thank him for his presence and support after Jim died. The parka is loaded with C4 explosives that could blow away the whole building. I got another chair and sat down.

A sense of Déjà vu was all over me. I could almost see Jim standing there. I knew Jim would be very pleased for my wrapping up here.

Games have to be fair so I slipped a fully-loaded handgun of John's that I had taken from his flat in the parka pocket. John would not do any silly thing. He is not reckless. He is a soldier. I checked the remote of the bomb in my pocket, loaded my rifle, and drank a cup of coffee from thermos. I untied the ropes and supported John. Now I was ready.

It was almost midnight. In complete darkness, I could hear cautious footsteps approaching. The return of the dead was imminent. A tall shadow stopped when he heard low groans: John must be coming to now. As I expect, Mr. Holmes was alone.

Excitement shook my body.

I grabbed John and made him stand up from the chair. John staggered, losing his balance with his eyes still closed. I ccould feel a penetrating stare from the shadow. Cheerfully, I called out at the detective.

"Now it's time for the final act, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Welcome back!"


	2. Pool again, John Watson

**JOHN WATSON**

**NOV 21****st**** POOL**

The floor shook and swayed as though I were sailing on rough water. I kept my eyes closed; I was sweating on my face. Feeling dizzy and sick, I groaned. My arms failed to find any support; someone was pushing me up; I heard a man's voice ringing in my ears.

"Now it's time for the final act, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Welcome back!"

It didn't make any sense. Sherlock Holmes? Whoever the speaker was, he could not be talking to him. Sherlock died.

"This might be a new version of the nightmare."

I tried to open my eyes and almost lost my balance. I felt someone's muscular arms grabbing and supporting me. I should've refused the last vodka when Sebastian ordered it.

"John. It's time to wake up."

I recognized the familiar voice.

"Sebastian? Is it you?"

"Hey, mate, sit down. You must be feeling awful."

He helped me sit down on a chair.

I opened my eyes. It was dark and chilly, certainly not my bedroom.

"Where are we?"

"Well, take your time and look around."

Sebastian leaned closer and whispered in my ears.

"I got you a surprise."

My eyes scanned the place. An old public swimming pool in renovation- stacks of tiles and blocks, insulation, some glass panels, beams, plastic chairs, no water in the pool. The place felt familiar yet I couldn't make out the place. My eyes flitted on someone. I gasped, failing to register what I saw. A tall man in black coat with a blue scarf was standing near one end of the Pool - a pale face with prominent cheekbones, curly black hair, a penetrating stare, and tall, lanky body. I blinked my eyes.

Sherlock Holmes.

"No. no. Am I hallucinating again?"

"What do you think? John, I found your friend for you. Rather I made your friend find me, thus forcing him to come back from his grave."

Sebastian made a mischievous look at me. I rubbed my eyes and looked again.

"This is a sick joke, right? He died years almost two years ago."

I shook my head with all kinds of possible ideas exploding in my mind. I tried to comprehend what was happening.

"Simply it must be a dream…or…what?"

I turned my head to Sebastian.

"Seb. Do you see him, too?"

His eyes twinkled.

"Oh, exactly like I had expected. John Watson. You are a textbook. My dear friend, you never disappoint me."

Sebastian laughed and somehow his laugh was full of malice.

"This is real. He is not a ghost."

All of a sudden, he stopped laughing, looked into my eyes, and asked innocently.

"Coffee? No sugars. Just the way you like."

He held out thermos. I shook my head because I would just throw it all back up. Sebastian was acting like a maniac. He reminded me of someone that I knew. Who was that person? I couldn't remember who that was. I staggered up to look at the man or a spirit or whatever that was across the pool but Seb's arms held me down. I tried to break free to no avail. His grip was too strong.

"John. Stay still. Do not make any moves."

Sherlock urgently stopped me from standing up. He spoke! He's not a hallucination! His eyes were fixed on something on me. My eyes followed his glance only to find a huge amount of C4 explosives tied around me.

"Not again…"

"Oh, gentlemen, I'd like to inform you that there are more of the explosives on the ceiling enough to collapse it. Before our lovely dinner tonight, I took my time to perfect this pool. Here's the remote control for that one."

Seb took a small device out to me. With that, the reality started to sink in.

"Sherlock. You…you're alive?"

"Yes. John. I am. I assume you have many questions but this isn't the right time to ask."

Sherlock took a couple of cautious steps toward me when Sebastian stopped him.

"Mr. Holmes, I'd love to see you stage something emotional, maybe a hug or a kiss with your doctor friend. But, no. Behave, Mr. Holmes."

Sebastian held out second remote control from his pocket.

"This one can blow up Mr. Watson."

Sherlock stopped there.

"Mr. Moran. The explosion will kill you, too."

A very simple answer came back.

"Oh, I don't care about myself."

My eyes darted from Sebastian to Sherlock. I was not sure if that was the real Sherlock. Worse, Sebastian was not Sebastian that I knew. My voice trembled.

"Who are you, Sebastian?"

"Who do you think I am? Dr. Watson. What was it? Oh, yes – the stupid bereavement UK meeting? I lost someone special in my life on the very same day that you saw this man fall."

Sherlock cut in.

"John, think. If you eliminate the impossible and whatever remains, however improbable…"

Suddenly everything made sense.

"Moriarty?"

Sebastian pursed his lips and took a deep breath before opening his mouth again.

"You are very thick, John. Didn't you read my CV file from Mycroft Holmes? Surprisingly you didn't have any questions about me. Yes, trust issues? You trust people too easily."

"I don't believe any of this."

My words sounded so desperate - I was losing somebody special.

"Here, here. The stubbornness of a soldier. Take a look around and think. You know where you are. We met here ages ago - you did not see me, but I saw you. Remember?"

_Moriarty. Pool. Explosives. A few laser dots…_

My voice trembled in disbelief.

"You were the sniper?"

"One of them. I was the one aiming for your heart."

Sherlock interrupted.

"John. This man, Sebastian Moran is Moriarty's lieutenant."

"Well done, Mr. Holmes. I thought few knew the connection between Jim and myself on top of the fact that you managed to track my mobile number. I was pleasantly surprised when you sent me the invitation."

Moran applauded, and then stared into my eyes and whispered.

"Yes. I was James Moriarty's right hand man. I admired him. He was …he was the only one who trusted me."

_Sebastian… Sherlock… Moriarty…It just didn't make any sense._

Sebastian added in a gentle voice, while looking at me.

"A little too much to handle, John? It's o.k. It doesn't matter. We're going to play a very entertaining game."

A meaningless murmurs and blurring vision… I tried to focus.

_Think. John Watson. Think. . Sherlock's alive. Sebastian is a lie. He said he was Moriarty's man._

_Contradicting emotions swirled in my head – shock, disbelief, happiness, bitterness, doubt, confusion, anger… _

_Sherlock Holmes. All this time, and nothing – no text, call, mail, just a fall. Did Sherlock Holmes trust me at all? Did he ever consider me as his best friend? He did. He must've done because he jumped off the edge of the roof for me… for us. Mycroft, Lestrade and I figured it out after Sherlock's funeral. I saw his body, his autopsy photos; I attended his funeral; how did he fake his death? Why didn't he tell me? What kept him from contacting me or Lestrade until now? Did he know how much I suffered? _

_What about Sebastian? Weren't we friends? Yes, it was an on-and-off thing but we got along o.k. We sought and found comfort in each other's company. Occasionally Sebastian talked and acted in a strange way, but I brushed it off as depression-related issues. Sometimes he really did care about me or at least he seemed so. _

_What's wrong with me? I must have a psychological problem. I am a magnet for all those sociopaths and freaks out there. I am the only one that gets hurt: Sherlock faked his death and never got in touch with me; Sebastian disguised himself as a friend and stabbed me in the back._

"John!"

Sherlock's voice…and a gunshot. I came to my senses just when a bullet whizzed by. I didn't see Sebastian move but he was close to Sherlock Holmes, pointing a gun at me. Sherlock's face was white and full of anger and fear.

"John, I finally got your attention, didn't I? My original intention was to kill you in the presence of Mr. Holmes because that was the rule of this game. However, I've changed my mind – we don't play it by Jim's rules, not this time. I'll thank you for your being there after Jim's death. You are my best friend in a way."

He pressed a button on one remote control and threw it away.

"I disabled the bomb around your chest. You're safe now. Take that parka off. Oh, your gun is inside the right pocket. Take it out and put it on the chair next to you."

My gun was supposed to be in my lockable drawer. Why and how was it in the pocket? I took the parka off slowly and pushed it away from me. Sherlock did the same thing last time… The look on Sherlock' face and his trembling voice… Sherlock did care about me although he was reluctant to admit it.

Sebastian's voice alerted me.

"John. John. Please, pay attention. Don't you want to listen to my rules?"

His voice suddenly dropped.

"You have two choices, Mr. Holmes or me? Choose the detective, and I'll finish the game. Mr. Holmes, Jim owed you a fall. John, I owe you a bullet."

He paused and grinned at my ashen face.

"Don't worry! I'm not Jim. I'll press this button and all three of us can go together."

Sebastian turned his face on Sherlock and smiled coldly.

"But, John. There is an alternative. You have a way-out. Think about it. All this time of misery and depression, Mr. Holmes abandoned you. He didn't trust you then, and certainly not now. To Mr. Holmes, you are just a loyal dog, an ordinary and boring live-in pet… He'll continue to use and betray you."

Sherlock got paler and shouted angrily.

"Don't listen to him, John. He's using you to get to me."

Sebastian laughed. A madman's laughter.

"Mr. Holmes, I assume you know what's coming. John. He doesn't deserve you. He's never deserved you. Pick me and kill him with your gun."

The sniper's voice got softer.

"John, choose me. Let's face the battlefield together. Your marksmanship tells me that you are very promising in that career."

I choked out words and his smile faded at my answer.

"I refuse to choose. Both are the options that I dislike."

Sebastian snapped at me.

"That's a disappointing answer. John Watson."

I shot him a defiant glare. His eyes were fixed on me and his voice was strained, almost as if he were pleading

"Common on, John. Choose me."

"No… I can't choose any…"

I stumbled in the middle of my sentence. Moran's face fell; soon it was replaced by a colder grin. Suddenly the silence between us was interrupted by police sirens and screeches of brakes outside the parking lot.

"Oh, gate crashers! I am disappointed, Mr. Holmes. You brought company!"

Moran taunted.

"Time is running out. You are such a greedy boy, John. You want both of us, but you can have only one. Who are you going to choose?"

"Sebastian, why are you doing this?"

I asked – I had to know why. My voice was in pain. Sebastian made a frustrated gesture.

"John, don't be unnecessarily difficult. We don't have "forever".

His eyes were filled with twisted glee.

"Well, I hope you'll forgive me for this. It's just to make you decide faster."

He aimed his rifle and fired; Sherlock made his move yet not fast enough. I crumbled on the floor with searing white pain burning my leg. I was panting and groaning with pain: soon I could feel blood flowing out profusely. I pressed the wound as hard as possible to no avail. Blood flew out and made a pool.

"A clean through-through, John. If untreated, you will bleed to death soon. Oh, what am I saying? Of course, you'd know. You are an army doctor. Now, what's your decision?"

In pain, I looked up at the sniper and saw Sherlock behind him.

There was a metallic clinking. Sherlock kicked the gun and rifle away into the empty pool. Sebastian yelped angrily and turned around to fight. Sherlock flung himself on Moran for the remote control. The two men were desperate. Sherlock punched Moran in the stomach and Moran returned the favor, punching him in the face. Sherlock was quick- he avoided it and jabbed Moran. Moran lost his balance, and tripped, accidently pushing the bomb switch. The ceiling started to crumble - a few broken cement blocks fell to the pool. One of the exposed beams started to swing precariously over the two men. Both looked up in disbelief. The beam was about to fall. Everything slowed down in silence. I shouted out.

"No. Damn it! No. I can't lose you again!"

Sebastian's eyes fleeted across me. Our eyes locked for a second. Everything was falling…

"John, John!"

Someone was calling me. A voice that I knew well...

_Who are you? Sherlock? Sebastian?_

With a flash of light, I found myself sinking into bottomless darkness.


	3. The return

**_ST. BARTS, 4 MONTHS LATER_**

A tall man in a dark coat hurried into the building. The elevator was full of patients, hospital staffs and visitors. Glancing at the elevator, he ran up to the third floor and opened the door of room 308 without knocking. Then he hurried to the help-desk near the elevator.

"John Watson, the patient of Room 308? Where is he?"

The nurse looked up and nodded as she recognized the man.

"Oh, Mr. Watson was released about an hour ago."

The young man's face looked irritated.

"Didn't he contact you?"

The nurse asked as she rummaged through her pocket.

The man's face hardened and answered,

"No. Did he tell you where he's going?"

"No, but Mr. Watson told me to give this to the most annoying visitor in Bart's ward history."

Smiling, Ms. Hales handed a note to the man.

"I've never seen a man of such strong determination. It is Mr. Watson that brought himself back to life, not us."

"Thank you."

Inside the elevator, the man opened the note.

"You know where to find me. JW."

Putting the note inside his pocket, he grabbed a taxi.

**CEMETARY**

It was middle of March yet no sign of spring. The snow from Thursday's blizzard hadn't melted and covered the ground in whiteness. The cemetery was empty and silent, except for one man. He slightly limped and had to use a clutch.

John stood in front of a grave. He laid a small bouquet of lilies and closed his eyes for minutes. With his gloved hands, he brushed snow off the stone. His eyes wandered over the inscriptions of the tombstone for a long time.

A tall shadow overlapped his shorter one.

"Been to the hospital?"

John asked softly.

"Yes. Are you okay?"

The man hesitantly asked as if he was afraid of John's answer.

" I had to be here."

" Yes. I know."

" No, you don't."

"Sentiment?"

John's mouth twitched a little bit. He remembered the Baskerville case.

"John. I have a question…"

John turned his back to face the man and raised his eyes.

"Why? Why did you choose me over him? Moran's arguments were convincing, well, since he played on your emotions. I could see you trusted him."

At this, John challenged the dark-haired man.

"Well, deduce me, Detective."

For the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes was at a loss for words. His brain failed to process any further. He scratched his head and looked at his shoes. Very reluctantly, he confessed with a sigh.

"I've visited that night at the pool again and again while you were lying unconscious in the hospital. I tried to see why. I couldn't."

He hastily added.

"There were unknown factors to consider, of course, my absence and your friendship with Moran."

"That explains the phone call from Mycroft three days ago. He sounded very amused. You asked for his help to see why?"

At this, Sherlock reddened a little and grunted.

"Mycroft knew the answer but for the fun of it, he told me that he wasn't going to give me a tip."

With a wisp of smile at Sherlock's petulant face, John opened his mouth.

"Sherlock Holmes. I buried you at the graveyard as you know. But, there is one thing that you don't know. I tried to bury you in my heart. When I did, it left a hole, Sherlock, an empty, dark hole. My life was, well, dull, miserable, and empty without you. You can't imagine how my life had been before I met Sebastian. Seb and I both knew the pain of loss; we had messy wounds; and we patched each other up."

Sherlock flinched at the look of empathy on John's face. It still hurt when he saw that face, but he knew he deserved worse.

"Well, here lies Sebastian Moran. He and I, you wouldn't want to see it that way, but we shared so many things in common. At first I was his prey that he was forced to give up. Then we became friends."

John's eyes were full of sadness.

"I think Sebastian figured out that you were alive much earlier. He wanted to keep some distance from me. Seb moved out from 221C and vanished – no forwarding address and no call or text. I got depressed. When he called me for dinner that day, I was over the moon."

John shook his head.

"Then you were there at that pool. I saw you return. I saw who Sebastian Moran really was. There were too many unanswered questions. Sherlock Holmes, if you want to know, my mind was boiling over hatred and denial because the two people that I had put my trust in betrayed me. Honestly, I hated both of you. When Sebastian asked me to choose the first time, I did not want any of you."

Sherlock looked hurt for a second but quickly he put on an impassive face, adding coldly.

"Moran got mad. That is why Moran shot you."

John smiled sadly.

"Can you blame Sebastian for that? I was the only one he trusted after Moriarty. Moriarty abandoned Moran because he was too obsessed with you. There was I, refusing to choose him. It pissed him off."

Sherlock opened his mouth but John kept talking.

"When I saw the beam falling over you, I was nearly unconscious. Do you know what I was thinking, Mr. Holmes? Only one thought. Not Sherlock again."

Sherlock Holmes' face was unreadable. He was waiting for John to finish.

"I couldn't move. The beam was about to fall. Everything was a blur but I remember Sebastian's eyes meeting mine. My face must have been a clear answer. He threw himself on top of you before the beam fell because he didn't want me to lose a friend again. I don't know why he changed his mind. However, he did it for me at the last moment."

Silence fell for a few more minutes. John slowly turned to face the grave and touched the black stone with his hand again.

"Here we are, Sebastian. You six feet under and Sherlock six feet over. I'm so sorry, Sebastian."

John touched the name inscribed on the tombstone.

"I wish we could go back in time so we can fix everything, Sherlock, but we can't. I am not who I was and you are not who you were. Everybody else has changed while you were gone."

Sherlock hesitated and then asked.

"You still don't want to hear why and how?"

John shook his head.

Sherlock looked relieved. This kind of conversation made him very uncomfortable. Frankly, John was the only one that he thought deserved an explanation, and, the only one who needed to forgive him. Since his comeback, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and some not-so-important acquaintances had grilled him to repeat the story and forced out his apology for "worrying" them.

At the same time, Sherlock was nervous because he could not read John. A far more generous punishment for him would have been a few punches and bruises on his face from the doctor with a lot of cursing, not John's silence or pretense that nothing ever happened since the fall.

"You bring out the best out of anybody, John. You did it on me and Moran. I think we will manage."

Sherlock took out a brown scarf out of his pocket.

"Mrs. Hudson made it while you were knocked out. It's very cold so put this on."

He tied the muffler around John's neck and awkwardly put his hand on John's shoulder. John flinched at his touch; Sherlock stopped and then said what he had to say, if belatedly.

"John, I'm really sorry. I am terribly sorry."

"What are you apologizing for, Sherlock? Are you saying sorry because you jumped from the building to save your friends?"

Sherlock stuttered.

"John, I…"

"I understand there must have been enough reason for what you did, Sherlock. There is always a good reason behind what you do…But…"

John continued without any emotions.

"As I keep on saying, I'm not going back to 221B. I've moved on – a new flat and a new job."

At John's words, Sherlock answered a little too quickly.

"John. I'll move in with you. It doesn't have to be 221B."

"No."

"John. Please, listen. You're mad at me for everything. I can't promise a quiet night without a violin, a hygiene kitchen without lab tools or a refrigerator without body parts but I'll do my best. I'll buy milk once in a while."

John shook his head incredulously.

"Sherlock, I don't care. I am fine with them. Actually I've missed a messy and smelly kitchen, fingers in the milk bottle and even your gunshots in the middle of night."

Sherlock frowned.

"What's the problem then?"

"I've been thinking and I don't think I will be able to deal with your "death" or your "lies" again."

Sherlock pondered this for a minute.

"What if I swear there won't be any?"

John did not answer but shook his head slightly. Sherlock pretended not to notice it

"Will you move back with me?"

Checking his wristwatch, Sherlock added before John could say anything else.

"By the way, this morning, Mrs. Hudson threatened me that she would double the rent if I don't bring you back to 221B from the hospital by noon. We've got only 30 minutes left before lunch: lamb chop, mashed potatoes, beans, apple pie, and tea. She made me memorize the bloody menu. Since I've just told you, I'm deleting it!"

Sherlock turned his back and started striding like the old days, not waiting for John to follow. John's clutch was already forgotten in his mind.

John sighed, "Something never changes."

He glanced at the grave for seconds and saluted. Slowly he followed suit.

"Sherlock, are Lestrade and Molly coming?"

Sherlock growled.

"Mrs. Hudson invited Mycroft, too. A lovely reunion…"

John called after the detective who was already at the entrance of the cemetery.

"Sherlock, I am not moving back today."

He answered impatiently.

"We'll see. Anyway, we're running late and there's a cab waiting. To 221B, shall we?"


	4. Back to flat

Hello. THanks for reading. I strongly recommend you read 26 wonders and Life still goes on with chapter 3 and 4 of Moran's Journal.

Hope you enjoy them and I'd appreciate your comments.

* * *

**EPILOGUE: JOHN WATSON**

_"_Ms. Hudson, the apple pie melts in the mouth. Yum." Molly praised her and asked for her secret recipe. Lestrade complained half-jokingly that he would go out shopping a pair of new pants because he could not stop eating. Ms. Hudson's face beamed with pride and joy at the compliments. Even Sherlock ate half of the pie in his plate and saved his words, a remarkable feat, which made the lunch more enjoyable for everybody except Sherlock's brother. Mycroft refused to eat the dessert because Sherlock mentioned Mycroft's diet again. Obviously the older Holmes had put on a few pounds since Sherlock came back to the country. Mycroft stormed out of the flat earlier for an excuse of an urgent call from his office – according to Sherlock, the call would definitely save the British government and the world. However, everybody knew Mycroft just couldn't stand his own brother's sarcasm.

Laughing, joking and gossiping about Scotland Yard, Bart's, and Baker Street, people enjoyed the afternoon tea in the sitting room of 221B. Ms. Hudson had cooked downstairs and we all carried food upstairs. 221B kitchen was off-limits: there were some pipe problems again. I didn't question it; As far as I know, it was not a kitchen but a lab full of cadavers, petri dishes, experiment equipments, chemicals, and a microscope. The kitchen door was closed- according to Sherlock- to keep bad smell out.

It was almost 3 o'clock when Lestrade and Molly said good-bye to Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. I stood up and grabbed my clutch, and followed.

"John, aren't you going to stay?"

Molly and Lestrade asked at the same time, raising their eyes.

I hesitated but I was determined to live away from 221B.

"I think I'd better be going, too."

Mrs. Hudson held my hand.

"John, I cleaned your bedroom upstairs. I already laid out a blanket and a pillow for you. You can get your things tomorrow and move back here."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. But I think…"

Her next words were unexpected.

"And, my dear boy, Sherlock was saying that he would buy a small freezer for his body parts..."

I blinked, not sure if I heard her right. Mrs. Hudson opened the kitchen door. I walked into the kitchen and... The pantry was full of boxes of my favorite tea; jars of strawberry and apricot jam; cans of beans and biscuit boxes. The kitchen table was clean with experiment tools occupying only half of the table.

"Sherlock had been to Tesco this morning."

Mrs. Hudson said with a big smile.

I didn't know what to say. Sherlock and grocery shopping? I remembered Sherlock's words at the cemetery.

_"John. Please, listen. You're mad at me for everything. I can't promise a quiet night without a violin, a hygiene kitchen without lab tools or a refrigerator without body parts but I'll do my best. I'll buy milk once in a while."_

I turned around and stared at Sherlock. Sherlock grunted.

"Mycroft… a stupid idea...He'll pay for this."

He cleared his throat and shrugged.

"Well, it's up to you, John. No pressure."

He walked away from me, picked up his violin, and disappeared into his bedroom. Bach's violin sonata filled the place.

I heard Lestrade, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson walk downstairs, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

_Should I walk upstairs to my bedroom or downstairs to my new flat?_

I walked around the sitting room, not knowing what to do. My eyes flitted through the Skull, letters, pictures on the wall, the antelop, books, stacks of magazines, cushions, sofa, and finally the smiley on the wall. All the memories, good or bad, happy or painful, were flooding my head... I ran down the stairs and caught a cab.

* * *

**221B, Kitchen**

After hours, Mrs. Hudson walked upstairs and found Sherlock staring into his microscope.

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

Her face was full of concerns; her voice gentle. Sherlock glanced up, startled, and answered tersely.

"Of course, I am."

She tried to say some words to defend John - she hadn't expected John to leave.

"I heard John leaving... I'm afraid he's not going to move in here. He suffered, you know..."

"Oh, He will move back eventually."

"Did he say it to you? How do you know?"

Sherlock put his one hand in his pocket and felt for the folded paper that John had pinned on the wall, the list of why the doctor loves 221B. He shrugged and answered with a mischievious grin.

"I just know."


End file.
